A Strange Kind of Loathing
by WhereBrokenHeartsLie
Summary: "His hatred cannot hurt me. Only his love can," Very dark one-shot with AU themes and Lemon.


**TITLE: **_A Strange Kind of Loathing_

_..._

**Summary:** _Enemies by day, lovers by night- Katniss Everdeen will need more than berries to win this game. _

**Dedicated to: **_aimmyarrowshigh _

**Warning:** _M__ for Language, Dark Themes and Sexual Content_

**Type:**_ One-Shot, Prompt-fic, Song-fic_

**Pairing:**_ Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark_

___**DISCLAIMER:** _All characters and settings belong to Suzanne Collins. If the Hunger Games belonged to me, it'd be a mess. I own only the plot.

_**Copyrighted**_

_2012_

_WhereBrokenHeartsLie_

* * *

**"Sex is the consolation when you can't have love," **

**-**_Gabriel Garcia Marquez_

**TITLE:**_A Strange Kind of Loathing_

_..._

**Summary:** _Enemies by day, lovers by night- Katniss Everdeen will need more than berries to win this game._

**Dedicated to:**_aimmyarrowshigh_

**Warning:** _M__for Language, Dark Themes and Sexual Content_

**Type:**_One-Shot, Prompt-fic, Song-fic_

**Pairing:**_Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark_

**_DISCLAIMER:_**_All characters and settings belong to Suzanne Collins. If the Hunger Games belonged to me, it'd be a mess. I own only the plot._

**_Copyrighted_**

**_NO PROFIT WAS MADE FROM THIS STORY. _**

_2012_

_WhereBrokenHeartsLie_

* * *

**"Sex is the consolation when you can't have love,"**

**-**_Gabriel Garcia Marquez_

It's only a matter of time before she deteoriates into herself, folding away like a ripple in the sea and turning to the darkness in search for the light. It's bewildering sometimes, to look at Katniss Everdeen and believe that she did incite a rebellion in a nation suppressed by cruelty and things unquestionable. She's not the same anymore, but who would be? She's lost her sister, her friend Rue, her friend Finnick, her designer Cinna...but above all, she's lost her fire. It's the only thing that people seem to answer the questions with. When the reporters come, or the fans, or the curious, they're told that she doesn't want to see them, that she's lost her fire. They have questions in their eyes and paper in their hands, but no understanding in their hearts so they see her anyway.

She doesn't say anything to them.

Sits there, dolled up and closed down with dead eyes and a hollow soul.

They click photos (for their children, for the future, for the albums) and offer her some weird comfort that they don't seem to understand themselves. They look at her gaunt face, her pale skin (no longer olive, or shining,), her lifeless eyes and her unruly hair and wonder where the Girl on Fire is gone. Haymitch sits a mile away, on a chair, stiff and drunk as the people come and go in silence, or in tears, or even in smiles. She doesn't say anything- stares ahead the primroses growing out in the Meadow and thinks about ashes.

Haymitch does try and talk to her- he really does but when he notices that she's unwilling to break, he caves in and spends his time drinking away the Games and her, because frankly, she's become this shell of nothingness and he's not sure if he can handle the emptiness sober. He dresses in old bow-ties and coats and smells like Buttercup (who likes reclining in his lap.) Sometimes she looks at the damned cat and tilts her head and her lips part and Haymitch thinks she'll say something. Only she doesn't. Turns away and looks out to the Meadow. Greasy Sae comes along with her granddaughter and squirrel casserole and Haymitch wonders who is hunting for her now. Katniss sits at the table, poker-faced and chews her food slowly, the servings decreasing in amount daily. He watches her die a little every day and wonders if she'll ever come back to life.

Katniss likes things simple, like her Reaping dress (the colour of faded skies) or the primroses out in the Meadow (the yellow in Prim's hair) or even some of the paintings Peeta had once made- she keeps Rue's on the mantelpiece and looks at it for days. She likes her food simple- beef casserole and water. She likes her hair simple- tied at the nape of her neck neatly. She likes her clothes simple- cotton shirts and thick trousers. She likes her life simple- no words, no regrets and above all of it, no memories.

The monotony of their lives doesn't hurt their bleeding hearts, or their stupid minds as Katniss and Haymitch go on living in a world of shadows and ash.

It all changes when Peeta Mellark comes back to District Twelve.

* * *

The train pulls into the station with a huff and he looks out at the sea of unknown faces waiting for him with cameras and notepads and bouquets and wonders how it got to be this way. His lips pull into a cruel smirk for a moment before he slips back into his easy-going smile. wasn't sure if it were right to send him back but Peeta knows that Haymitch convinced the Doctor somehow and now he's back. Back to the ashes, the Hob and all the broken memories that shine and fade in his mind like old photographs. Some tint at the edges and some fold in in the middle and he forgets how hard it can be to remember.

He steps off the train and the roar in the crowd is deafening. The hand goes up and the cheers strengthen in volume and he smiles lazily at the young girls, at the middle-aged mothers and the white-haired grandmothers. His charm works all the time. The station smells of grease and old times. The cameras flash on and off and he blinks wearily as he glances around for Haymitch. The old drunk will be here, somewhere, and as Peeta's eyes search the people, he finds Greasy Sae. The woman waves to him and nods as if to tell him to follow her. So he obeys. The reporters surround him but he's charming and dazzling and he tells them whatever they need to know to tell the Capitol and their editors.

"How is it being back here, ?"

"Does it feel nostalgic or just bittersweet?"

"Do you see Katniss Everdeen anywhere? What do you have to say to her?"

"Does this compare to the Capitol?"

"Will you be happy?"

"What does say about your treatment?"

"Are you feeling OK?"

He finds Greasy Sae easily and glances curiously at her granddaughter. She's a pretty girl with the Seam eyes and thick, golden hair. She gives a tentative smile before sidling away. He follows the two with eagerness, partly because he needs to see the rest of the District and partly because he needs to get away from all these people (who part when he comes their way.). Some thrust bouquets, or cards, while others throw kisses and flirtatious comments his way, winking coyly or smiling shyly. He doesn't bother much- he's got to find his way out of this hell-hole before he start vommitting or loses control and shouts at them. The cruel smirk fixes itself on his face as he thinks about a certain girl with fiery, grey eyes and dark, silken hair. But it's gone swiftly and he's walking away from the crowd, the sweat and the cameras with Greasy Sae tottering ahead. He follows them, cerulean eyes taking in the ashes, the blackened buildings and the dull people.

What a place.

The Capitol is colour- District Twelve is grey. And not a beautiful, shining, bright grey. No, it's a deadened, flat, ugly grey. The bodies are a few (the nameless who have no one left to collect them.) as they hide behind dumpsters and cheap replacements for houses (tents.). He looks at the misery with fascination, shocked by how disgustingly sad this place has become. He passes the bakery and Greasy Sae asks him if wants to stop and look around. He snorts unintentionally, drawing an incredulous look from the older woman and says that his old life is gone and there is no point dwelling in the yesterday. She shrugs (still a little shocked.) and leads him on, her granddaughter regarding him with a curious, pitying gaze.

The Victor's Village is still pristine, as if some kind of bubble guarded it from the destruction that fell around the District. He regards the houses with grim satisfaction and notes the Meadow beyond, yellow and pink. Something nervous flutters in his abdomen and he dismisses it instantly. It's not worth even analyzing. He follows Greasy Sae and her powder-white hair towards a house he knows is not his own because there's clothes out in the front yard and there's primroses lying here and there as if someone went around ripping them from the Meadow and throwing them here. He wonders how she will be and again the nervous flutter comes back (he dismisses it because stomachs don't flutter, no. They twist and turn, but never, ever flutter.) There's a loud voice coming from the house and he recognizes Haymitch.

His escorts will bring up his belongings (little and scarce, but still his.) to his house and his prep team might come along to pep him up for a few interviews. He runs a hand through his hair, ignores the gnawing at his stomach and pastes a good-natured smile on his handsome face, curious and afraid.

They're sitting in the dining room (a small, cozy room), at the table, steaming meat in their plates and cups in their hands. The stench of liquor is loud and the presence of the Girl on Fire is small.

"I told you not to drink...it's bad for your health," Greasy Sae scolds him and makes a grab for the bottle but Haymitch's reflexes give him the upper hand and he's pulled back effortlessly.

The drunk hasn't changed, Peeta notices. He's unshaven and unkempt, but he's still got those piercing eyes and the bitter look full of sarcasm and loathing. He's wearing an untucked, un-ironed shirt and loose trousers and his hair mess around with his forehead. He's chewing the meat and there's a piece of golden bread by his plate. Peeta doesn't look to _her_ just yet...instead, he focuses on his Mentor.

Haymitch ignores Sae, and looks right back at Peeta with inquisitive eyes.

"So you're back, huh?" he finally says coldly, his voice venomous and impersonal. Haymitch sniffs and chews the morsel of squirrel before continuing, "Glad to see you're fine and completely safe. Thought you'd lost a couple of limbs or something while you were there...but Snow kept you well. Also, good to know you're sane enough to be sent back. I'm going to tell-"

"Look, Haymitch, I know you may not be happy about seeing me but at least you could pretend," Peeta snaps defensively and casts a derisive look towards Greasy Sae.

He can feel _her_ eyes (lifeless as they may be,) piercing his skin and embedding themselves into his bones, hot and cold. He ignores them.

"I'm done pretending," Haymitch retorts coldly and gets up, his chair catapulting into the floor.

He makes as if to move and Peeta's in his way in a blink, taller by an inch and less intimidating because of his sheepish expression. Greasy Sae's stroking her granddaughter's head and the Girl on Fire watches on with her hooded eyes, lost and broken.

"Look, Haymitch," Peeta expels a shuddering breath and feels the nervous twinge again, refusing to look at the girl who's done him over so many times. "This is...hard for me, too, OK? After the Quell, they messed me up and I can't remember thing properly. Some memories, they shine and others, they fade and I can't tell what really happened and what didn't . They've fed me lies and fed me the truth and they've told me about her..."

He trails off and shuts his eyes momentarily, breathing heavily and takes in a deep breath before continuing.

"It would be easier...if you just helped me out, OK?" he asks quietly and steps back, warding off any cruel blows with a protective hand across his chest.

Haymitch looks at him carefully, weighing, measuring and calculating. For a moment, the Boy with the Bread is sure that he will not be helped or aided and he'll just have to pretend to be OK. For a moment, he's certain of the darkness swallowing him and never letting go. For a moment, he knows that he can never be the same. Then, Haymitch speaks, rougher than usual but forgiving and apologetic.

"Sit," is all he says but it's enough for Peeta and he flashes Greasy Sae a huge smile, all tooth and happiness (fake, of course, he tells himself later.)

"Right, I'll be getting home. I'll come round in the evening. Y'all be on your best behaviour, OK?" the older woman says carefully and places an askant look in the mentor's direction.

Haymitch grunts and Peeta nods and Sae lets herself out, her golden-haired grandchild hot on her heels.

Katniss looks at him, properly, for the first time since the Quell and the words come out instantly (regrettable but like her vengeance anyway.)

"I didn't know the District allowed bastards to come back," her voice is rough from disuse and cold from the ice she feels in her veins.

His eyes are darker, lined with indigo and dipped in green and yet still the heart-warming blue they were in the Arena. His hair are shorter, golden and his jaw is perfect, screwed tight as he clenches his teeth, a muscle ticking in his forehead at her remark. His built is tall, lean and his shoulders broad. He's grown into something, into someone she can't really recognize and her bitterness at everything is reflected in her dead eyes. Haymitch looks at her in alarm but there's something deeper pulling at the corners of his lips, begging to be spewn. He's shocked at her language, of course, but more so, her ability to form coherent sentence is back and he feels something akin to relief stir in his weary body. So she hates the boy...who cares? At least she can speak.

"I didn't know the District still kept bitches around," he retorts and the cruel smirk that has been clawing to come out since the time he's stepped back here is on his face, unforgiving.

Now Haymitch does stop eating. This...this is unforeseen. Peeta acting this way has never crossed his mind and yes, the language does perturb him. The smirk that pulls the boy's lips up is so unlike him that Haymitch finds himself reconsidering the decision he made. Could it be that-

"Sure, it's nice to know that you are concerned about yourself being here," she returns coolly and she notes how angry he is now and she thinks that maybe she likes this Peeta more than the old one.

"Fuck you, Katniss," he snaps furiously and she almost laughs at his weak response.

"It's about time," she mutters under her breath, suddenly weary.

"Oh? Tired, Everdeen? Does this tire you out?" he says snidely and then he's in her face, smirking and eyes glinting malisciously and her hearts beating so hard that she thinks it's going to explode. He brings his lips to her ear, hot breath falling across her skin like pebbles over the floor and her body goes rigid when his fingers cup her chin.

"What will happen to you when I _fuck _you against the wall tonight?" he whispers huskily and she feels liquid heat cloud her mind, deadening the dirty insinuation she's been faced with.

The touch of his fingers is like deja-vu and she's suddenly back in the Quell, and his lasting kisses melt her defenses as she remembers the familiar need of being closer to him, of needing him flush against him. She feels it now, suddenly and finds that she can't really find the air to breathe. She's struggling because he's breathing against her neck and her body has arched towards him (she condemns the action later with an angry curse.). She fights against it, but the War has drained her of her strength and she wants to crumble before him- this new, cruel, pathetic and yet so beautiful Peeta. He knows the effect he has on her, the effect of numbing her mind, of inciting the heat, of pulling at her heartstrings and smirks inwardly. So easy. Her skin looks good enough to eat and her half-lidded eyes spur him on, almost. He remembers the Mentor and himself and decides that perhaps tonight is the right time. The fire grows across her skin but he moves anyway. Shouldn't go too far, or he'll be unstoppable.

His fingers are rough, scarred and his eyes are dark when he pulls away and the absence of his warmth reminds her of his crude words. Her cheeks flush and her fingers curl into fists and she sputters furiously.

Haymitch sees the spark in her eyes, the smallest flicker of flames there and knows that the Fire never really left her.

It just needed to be rekindled.

And Peeta Mellark has done just that.

* * *

Katniss walks around her room naked for a while, trying to instill the coolness of the air around her into her patent skin without wincing or groaning. The door is locked and the windows curtained with thick velvet and she feels so cold. Right down to her heart. The dry tear-tracks are faded and she wants nothing more than to cry into the silken cloth they call bed sheet until she's asleep…maybe forever. She isn't sure what hurts her the most- the fact that she does care about Peeta Mellark or the fact that he hates her completely. She can feel the whispery touch of his fingers and her chest tightens, another rude word slipping past her mouth and lingering in the room. How has all of it come to this? This menial, stupid game of lying and pretending and playing? She holds back another growl and grabs her dressing-gown (something she hates to wear because it's like a dress and yet she can't stop herself.).

There's a knock on the door.

She ties the strings of the gown neatly around her waist and pulls out her braid, glancing at the blank walls. Slowly, she walks to the door and pulls away the locks and swings it open to see **him** standing there, frustrating and bathed and so..._tempting. _His hair are wet and dark, sticking to his forehead and his eyes are sinewy- the shade of the twilight sky as it swings into the night. His skin is golden and slightly moist, droplets of water running down the side of his face and tracing a path down his beautiful nose. He's wearing a white tee-shirt (that defines his pectoral muscles, lean and sinful) and low slinging jeans. For a moment, she wonders how it would be like if he just cared for her. has rung up and warned her to be careful (not to set him off, more like) because he's prone to 'episodes' of diffrential madness and no one can harm the Mockingjay.

She folds her arms over her chest and looks into his eyes, knowing that the rules for this game are very, very different.

"What do you want?" her voice is sharper than she intends and her gaze doesn't mean to slip down to his lips and feel her stomach tighten (which it doesn't really,) but it does and her stomach does feel weird.

"Why did you do it?" he asks her slowly and his voice seems less like himself and more like a stranger's- so emotionless and lost within the innocence the Capitol took away.

He tilts his head a little and leans against the doorway, a sure sign that he is not going to leave.

"Do what?" she asks patintly, knowing that an offence cannot be the best defence and the slight flicker of something insinuating in his eyes is a warning (_don't go too far_, the warning says to her).

"Fight for Coin when you had the choice to walk away?" he asks coolly and runs slender fingers through wet, golden stands of perfect hair and she remembers how soft they felt under her fingertips.

With a tight-lipped shake of her head, she tells him curtly to fuck off.

His amused smirk is something she should be expecting by now but when it does come, she's knocked off her feet because it's terrifying to think that he's not the Boy with the Bread but the Boy who Can Undo Her. She swallows thickly and looks at him (properly). There's one conclusion she comes to instantly and it makes it hard for to breathe. He's been marked by the darkness that has threatened to break over him and she knows that he has given in to the beckons of the cruelty and the barbarity that the darkness brings.

"I want an answer," he says slowly, breaking her observing glare with a fruitless smile.

"Maybe I don't want to give you one," she says.

"You don't have a choice, here, Girl of Fire," he mocks her title with something that makes her insides frizzle with anger and tongue jump to the possibility of snapping him to pieces.

She steps right up to him, finger pointing at his chest (she pokes him furiously with it) and curls her lip, a deafening roaring crashing over her head as she threads words together and stabs him through.

"Why are you really here, Peeta?" she snarls coldly, her eyes unforgiving and her touch like yesterday.

His smirk is so reckless and it throws her off as she takes it in with a twitch of her grey eyes.

"Because Haymitch requested to send me back...probably thought that I'd heal you or something like that. I've seen some of the footage of the Games and the Quell and I can't bring myself to believe that I was so hung up about you like some stupid puppy. You always played around, Katniss, didn't you? And you always lied to me...always tried to 'protect' me...always held me back and I don't get it. I don't get why I loved you," he sounds confused by the end and she senses that he's more confused than she can ever be but she can't forgive him.

_Why I **loved** you. _

It's funny how much a simple tense can hurt so much. Her heart clenches inside her chest and her fingers tremble as they curl into a fist, trying to demonstrate self-control as she steps back. He doesn't...he doesn't. Her head seems to implode with the loudness of his sentence as it runs across her mind, over and over, like some curse, old and yet so familiar. Hurt. So god-damned hurt. She looks away before he can see it all in her eyes and know that this round is given to him. What hurts her even more is that fact that he is confused...confused as to why he loved her. How could he be confused? Peeta had always loved her. His love had been a reliance, some sort of vanquishing factor in her life of lies, a strange kind of comfort, (a faith) she held close to her selfish being and now that she sees it, (this crazed boy) , she can't doubt his words.

"You never understood me, Katniss. I can't believe I even treasured you, despite your treatment of me, as if I were something you could string me along and I'd follow you around. I did, at first. Always did think you would have loved me, you would love me...but delusions are stupid to entertain and nothing hurt me more than _you,_" he continues his verbal assault, a cruel (empty, sadistic expression casting itself over his mesmerizing face as she watches the blank wall to her left with great interest.

_Nothing_ hurt me more than**_ you. _**

"You're not even that beautiful, or pretty. Delly was beautiful...Madge was beautiful. You're not. You don't even begin to compare to the girls back in the Capitol, with all the exotic hair and the intense eyes," he enjoys her flinch with a relishing smile and notes how her eyes look cornered and terrified for the briefest of seconds."You couldn't compare to their kisses, so experienced and addicting, like morphine, numbing the pain and making me feel woozy. You couldn't compare to their touches, burning and alive, like the fire that died within you, making me feel wanted and loved. You couldn't compare to their screams when I _fucked_ them hard and fast and th-"

"Stop!" she cuts in sharply and he notes how her eyes look like they were covered in a misted blanket and her body shakes with the effort of controlling her screwing emotions.

The hurt embedded in her gaze and rusted in her flinches is quite enough to make him smirk again, enough to lambaste her and her broken self.

"Just...just..." she swallows and he knows from the slightest tremble of her sharp chin that her voice is only a few moments from breaking into a crescendo of tear and mess (he isn't sure why he remembers such a thing...) She clears her throat and looks away, avoiding his gaze carefully.

"Goodnight, Peeta," she says coolly and shuts the door promptly in his face.

He walks back to the guest room with the steps of a loaded passenger who has lost everything and needs nothing. His shoulders sag just a little and his eyes betray the empty abyss inside him (a large chasm of destruction and pain swirling in the embers of his struggling heart) as he stumbles into his room. It feels good, it feels right- this victory is only just the beginning. He has a vendetta, he has a plan, he has a vengeance that needs quenching and a thirst that longs to be put out with the crushing of the Mockingjay. She's hurt him, betrayed him, used him and then left him to the hands of the Capitol at the bidding of a woman she didn't trust. He falls into his bed, feeling something strange and sad crawl into his head. His lips pull into a satisfied smirk.

But the hollow feeling doesn't go.

* * *

The next morning screams misery. Her eyes welcome the plush sunlight with a yawn and she looks out of the window and wonders about Annie Cresta. Does the mad girl feel the same way as Katniss does right now? Does she feel this craving inside her head, empty and relentless? Does she feel lost inside the memories that bring nothing but the bitter taste of her losses? Does she taste the regret in the shadows, the pain in the snow, the ache in the light and the comfort in the darkness? Does Annie enjoy this madness? This ability to be incapable of being sane and yet feeling so elevated, so free of all mortal things. Does Annie feel the chaotic submerging of the human inside and the descent of the monster? Does she like it? Does Annie celebrate her decline with a cold smile and a tainted soul?

Because Katniss does.

She flexes her fingers before pouring herself a cup of coffee and glancing at the cup of hot tea (sugarless) which sits so patiently on the kitchen counter. She pulls herself together with a deep breath and wonders if Haymitch knows how the fissures divide her inside and tear away at the things she's thought to be hers. She wonders if Peeta knows how hard it is to sleep when all you can think about is the boy you once cared for and how he tells you that you are nothing compared to the sluts and whores that slaved over him in the one place that killed you inside. No, they both know nothing. No one does. She sips her black coffee and thinks about a world without the Games, without Panem and without Peeta...and without the fire.

The world is grey.

She stops envisioning and focuses on the bitter taste of the strong coffee, unaware of soft footsteps of the boy who's broken through her defenses in just a day and destroyed everything.

Peeta moves stealthily (a trait he's acquired over the creeping around hotel rooms and through corridors in the Capitol) and looks at her back with an unreadable expression on his beautiful face. He thinks about the Arena and the Quell and contemplates the idea of Katniss being an ally. It doesn't work. The memories are warped and even ' medication doesn't help him. It makes him feel the pain of her betrayal and giving up more than he should. He doesn't question it. She's a mutt...a liar...a slut (he knows that she's fucked Gale...that she's given the hunter her virginity...has obliterated his presence with that of a boy with grey eyes and desperate hands.)... in short, Katniss is a **bitch.**

"Your tea is on the counter," Haymitch's voice breaks into his introspection and Peeta jolts (despite himself) and offers his mentor a glare that could have sent the older man catapulting into the farthest corners of oblivion.

Katniss moves (his peripheral vision notices it.) and slips past with barely a flicker of her eyes or a twitch of her mouth. Her face (he notices) is closed off as if she's shut it all away and he feels a distant tug as he watches her bend down to pick up something. There's something wrong about her. Something off. Something that doesn't add up. Her black dressing gown sticks to her thin frame and it strikes him quite suddenly what is wrong about her.

She isn't wearing any underwear.

The heat is sent plummeting to his groin and he feels his throat dry up in a moment's time. God, what the fuck? It's unbelievable and yet so perfect because Haymitch is muttering about going to see Sae and the Distrtict people about some important meeting and because Peeta has promised her a fuck (yesterday morning, he reminds himself.). He wants her to fall apart, lose that prickly atitude and see that she bleeds the same darkness as him. He's thought about it a lot last night and he knows that they are more alike than either of them will ever admit. She's a bitch and he's a bastard and they both want to win this fucking game. It's time to show her just how he plays...Sure, he hurt her last night with his cruel words but then he can charm his way to her body.

When Peeta drifts out of his daze, Haymitch is gone and he has to remind himself that he can do anything to her if he wants. He recalls the way he kissed her in the Games ( so gentle and so timid, as if he were afraid.) and chuckles under his breath, his mind conjuring pictures of her backside, up in the air, tight against the satin of her gown, without any underwear. His throat seems dryer and he picks up his tea from the counter, sipping it noisily. His plan won't be put out just yet. No, he needs to seduce her. Make her want him so bad...Yes, he wants Katniss Everdeen to beg. He wedges his erection back with a flick of his tongue and convinces himself that he will spend more time on it. He will break her.

In one way or another.

Somehow.

* * *

If someone had told Katniss Everdeen that she would be swearing at Peeta Mellark after his hijacking and pretending that she hated him, she would have laughed in their faces and given them her pink pills, telling them that they need the medication more than her, But that's exactly what has happened. She sits by the mirror, the night young outside and room's cool air warm around her. Her brush is stuck mid-air as she ponders over the events of the day of Peeta's return. She isn't sure how she feels so calm and collected when really, the flames are burning away and eating up her insides until all she can feel is hot...hot- insatiable heat curbing around her. It's really quite magnificent, she thinks to herself, that she has become this and Peeta has become that. A wry chuckle slips past her lips, reluctant and forced and she goes back to brushing her hair. She knows how shocked Haymitch is and she knows that somehow, even after a year of no words, of nothingness, she has this fire back and she isn't sure if she wants to let it go. She shakes her head and runs her brush through her ebony-brown hair, smoothing away the tangles and imagining that her mother is doing this for her.

But she's not.

Her mother is in District Two with Gale and healing people that she's never known in her life. Katniss knows why she didn't come back to District Twelve- it's because of Prim. Every corner, every turn, every shadow screams Prim and her golden hair and her faded laugh but Katniss can manage it. Her mother, on the other hand, cannot. She brushes her hair swiftly and looks out of the window at the night and the moon and the stars and thinks of the Boy with the Bread (who isn't there...anymore)...the Peeta that held her in his arms, the Peeta that kisses her so gently in the cave, the Peeta who loved her without conditions, without any questions. He's not there anymore. No, some monster's there in his place and there's something inside her too, something dark and triumphant that conquers her.

"You know he's not the same anymore, the boy," Haymitch's voice breaks into her introspection but she doesn't turn to know that he's standing at her door in a black robe, his hair messed-up and his eyes dilated from the alcohol.

"I never expected him to be," she replies quietly, untangling another tangle in her smooth, ever-flowing hair.

"But he's good for you, he is..." the older man says in a very convinced tone, his hand clenching around the liquor bottle.

"Whatever you tell yourself, Haymitch," she retorts emotionlessly and puts down the brush, turning to face the drunkard with a placid expression and burning grey eyes.

"Good to hear you haven't lost your sarcasm yet, sweetheart," he says snidely and gulps down some of the white liquor with a loud slurp, grinning as it burns its way down his throat.

"Goodnight, Haymitch," she concludes smartly, rising from her seat and pulling her hair into a familiar, neat braid with burnt fingers.

Haymitch turns to leave, swigging the bottle once more and slips out of the door, only to peep in again as if he's remembered something interesting, something worth telling her. His eyes are slightly more serious and his expression is grim, all of a sudden ( she isn't sure why her stomach flutters...but stomachs don't flutter- only minds make up things like to make you feel nervous when your stomach is intact and fixed...) and she waits patiently, eyes unwavering as she ties her braid securely.

"He's staying with us for a few days, a'right?" he says quietly.

She says nothing and he decides it is best if he leaves because he doesn't want to get tangled up in this web of deceit and destruction. It's bad enough to stay in this house, this District with her, but with both of them (so different, so lost), he's certain he's going to lose his mind. She looks at the door with longing eyes, wishing perhaps that Haymitch could show more affection, could be more like a father than this stranger with the eyes that saw all and a heart that felt nothing. But then when she's wishing for so much, she might as well ask for Prim, and Finnick and herself. And Peeta. The old one, of course- the one who was warm, and soft and tender and kind. Not this monster. No, she's done dealing with demons (she's one herself..) but if he wants to fight..to mess with her head, then so be it. She will not fall. She's sick of falling, deeper and deeper and his sharp, hurtful words today have ignited the fire.

Now she's burning, with malign hate and destruction and if he doesn't play it safe, she knows deep down inside that she'll destroy him. Fully. And for _ever._

* * *

"_Bitch_," he says the moment she walks into the kitchen and she has to ignore the urge to smack his smirk away and cut him down.

Instead, she picks up a mug from the counter and goes over to make herself some coffee. Her robe is secured tightly around her narrow waist and her hair is coiled at the nape of her neck as her fiery grey eyes roam the kitchen with vague interest. She hasn't slept well but the cold shower has washed the nightmares away and she feels a certain burning in the pits of her belly as he watches her with a calculating gaze, his eyes dark and his expression unreadable. She doesn't falter in her movements (Katniss never falters...not even for a moment...) and puts the water to boil, looking out to the Meadow, glimmering gold and sinewy with the morning sun and the old dew. She feels a pang of something (regret, perhaps.) and quells it. No, regret will not help. She sighs softly, ignoring the fact that Peeta has cleared his throat thrice now and his eyes feel like daggers, deep and sharp into her back. She's thought about this...about him and knows that the only way to win this pathological game is to not care. She turns around slowly because he's cleared his throat and immediately, the breathing capability of hers is gone.

He looks...mesmerizing. (Even if he is sick and twisted and lost to her.)

His short hair is dark golden and wet and it falls across his forehead like an array of dark shadows. His lips are moist and for a moment, she wonders how they taste now. Probably like hatred and sin. Not like bread and reverence, patience and flour. No, they're not the same. He's wearing only pajamas (a fact she knows and has duly avoided the moment she's walked in here,) and she notices how his muscles are defined, sleek and still dripping from the shower he's taken. He wasn't like this, not in the Games, or the Quell and that makes her wonder how he's gotten this way- so sleek and sinful, as if bathed in temptation and thrown out to bait her into the darkness. His arms are strong and tanned and his hands are rough with scars and old memories (she knows this because she has grabbed his hand yesterday to stop him from taking Haymitch's food.). His eyes, though, are seduction, pure and indefinite. They're not light blue (like the sky outside), no, they're a dark, sublime indigo, lined with darkened lashes and she can feel the heat the put through her body, like static electricity, like prickling sensations of needles...like insinuations and promises, they look right at her.

She feels naked.

Her eyes (by mistake, she convinces herself later,) slip down to his chest and her throat dries as she notices the way his muscles dip into his hips, narrow and his pajamas are hanging low enough to make her feel hot and high enough to keep it OK. She swallows thickly and looks away the moment she hears the click of the kettle and his eyes sear up to hers. The spell is broken and she's so thankful for the kettle because her palms are sweaty and her knees are weak and she feels like she'll pass out any moment. What has happened to them? She was never like this (so flustered and hot and...wet?) and he was never like this (so tempting, so succulent, so sinful). Swallowing again, she goes over to the kettle and pours herself a cup of boiling water, drops in some coffee and stirs.

"Haymitch went to Sae's. Said he needed some time to get used this all...and that he wouldn't be back for a few days. Told me to let you know, _mutt_," his quiet, caressing voice slips out and she has to swallow again to clear her hazy mind and force out a retort.

"I'm not a mutt," she snaps coldly and puts in two spoons of sugar, stirring the blackness as she gazes down into the steam and coffee.

"You don't fool me, Everdeen," he returns offhandedly and glances at her clenched fist before looking around the small cooking area. He sips his sugarless tea with a heartless smirk and continues in the same, amused tone, "Did Gale**_ fuck_** you well?"

She spins around so fast that Peeta's sure she'll spill her coffee all over the place and he knows that she is angry not just because of his statement about Gale but also the fact that Haymitch has left her here with him. He could almost laugh at the fury on her face and the red staining her gaunt cheeks if it weren't for the darkness swimming around his head and churning in his stomach and boiling onto his lips.

"Wh...How...How..." she sputters incoherently and slams her cup of coffee down and he notices how a trickle of water slips down her neck, so innocent and he licks his lips, watching her anger in amusement. She settles on, "How...dare **_you_**_?"_

"Was he good?" he's started walking towards her slowly with the look of a predator cornering his prey.

But she's smarter than he's estimated and much stronger than he's ever expected and so she she closes off her face abruptly, as if shutting away a book, the emotions going down one by one until her face is empty and her eyes are cold.

"Better than you will ever _be_," she replies simply, emotionlessly.

And she leaves him there, speechless and betrayed (somewhere deep inside, of course,) with the darkness eating him away.

Peeta wonders for the first time if this game will really be his win...or not.

* * *

Katniss hasn't seen him for a month and she's glad for it. Her days are spent hunting and talking to the trees about her hopeless dreams. She eats squirrel for dinner and berries for lunch and thinks that the game he'd tried to play (over the span of two days) with her cannot be won with her infallible courage or her monumentous pride or the berries. No, it was dangerous but it's gone and she can't be more relieved. Yes, the nightmares are worse and her heart bleeds beneath her restricted chest but he's not around to make it hell. She does catch a glimpse of him, sometimes, around the District, flirting with some of the girls, talking to the reporters about their 'relationship', helping out at the Hob and running his bakery but she avoids him.

Haymitch doesn't ask her anything and she reverts into herself with a broken sigh. Her words become few, chosen until they're completely non-existent and she makes herself believe that he didn't really return and conjure so many questions- that he didn't really change from the warmth and the bread she recalls from the Arena- that he does't hate her enough to kill her- that he didn't ever leave it all behind for this Hell. Telling yourself a lie is easy and making yourself believe it is easier and accepting it is the easiest part, especially when it's about this.

She sits down on a rock but a great, almighty huff, the bloody deer lying at her feet. She's had a letter from her mother and one from Gale and a tug of humanity pulls away the corset of her demise and sense its way to her beating heart. Her mother will visit her in a few months and Gale promises her a visit in September. She isn't sure if she should be happy or not. Her glance to her hands confirms the fact that she has blood on her fingers and over her wrists. The bow and arrow lie near the deer and her father's jacket seems to weigh down her shoulders as if ridding itself of old memories. She thinks about Peeta and his open words and his gentle embrace.

___"Because I don't want you to forget how different our circumstances are. If you die and I live, there's no life fore me at all back in District Twelve.** You're my whole life,"** he says."I would never be happy again." She starts to object but he puts a finger to her lips. "It's different for you. I'm not saying it wouldn't be hard. But there are other people who would make your life worth living."_

_There is nothing in the world that could break her faster at this moment than these three faces. After what she heard this afternoon…it is the perfect weapon._

_"Your family needs you. Katniss"** Peeta** says._

_Her family. Her mother. Her sister. And her pretend cousin Gale. But Peeta's intention is clear. That Gale really is family, or will be one day, if she lives. That she'll marry him. **So Peeta's giving her his life and Gale at the same time.** To let her know she shouldn't ever have doubts about it. Everything. That's what Peeta wants her to take from him._

_She waits for him to mention the baby, to play to the cameras, but he doesn't. **And that's how she knows that none of this is part of the game.**_

_**"No one really needs me,**" he says, and there is no self-pity in his voice. It's true his family doesn't need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. She realizes only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies._

_ Her._

_"I **do**," she says. **"I need you.**" He looks, takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, and it's no good, no good at all, because he'll start going on about Prim and her mother and everything and she'll just get confused. So before he can talk, she stops **his lips with a kiss.**_

_**She feels that thing again**. The thing she's only felt once before. In the cave last year, when she was trying to get Haymitch to send them food. She kissed __ Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made her feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made her want more. But her head wound started bleeding and he made her lie down._

_This time, there is nothing to interrupt them. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside her grows warmer and spreads out from her chest, down through her body, out along her legs, to the tips of her being. Instead of satisfying her, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making her need greater. **She**** thought she was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind**."_

She jolts back.

The past isn't worth delving into. It's all a lie, in the end.

Her eyes blur with tears and she's not sure when the dam breaks but it does and she knows that she has to see him again, despite all her avoiding and ignoring- she must. Her sobs are loud but drowned in the sounds of the living forest around her and she buries her face in her hands, breaking into pieces, falling apart like Finnick did. Her shoulders heave with the force of her grief and her sobs turn into howls, loud and agonizing as if she's being tortured (like Darius.) with searing pliers. It's not fair that he should be this way and she should be the one trying so hard to make him believe in her. He hates, though and she knows it and she cannot deny it, as hard it she tries. It's vain. It's useless. Ad it hurts. Every moment of being here hurts.

Every moment of existing without Peeta Mellark, is like trying to exist without oxygen.

Except the pain doesn't burn her lungs- no, it consumes her heart.

* * *

People don't know the sin they commit by associating with him and his blue, blue eyes. They don't know that when they smile at him with their white teeth and brilliant admiration, they are only summoning the devil. They don't know that when they pat his back, or shake his hand or kiss his lips, they succumb to his temptation and give in to the need. They don't know that every waking moment spent with him is a moment lost forever, a moment so precious and spent so callously. They don't understand the fact that he is no longer innocent, or harmless- they forget that he is a killer, a murderer, a sinner and that they will be punished for their reverence and devotion...but then, Peeta Mellark can't blame them, can he?

His one month here has been the trade of pleasure for more pleasure with the one girl he'd never thought he'd find satisfying. Sae's granddaughter, Aloria. He's seen **_her_** around a lot, going under the fence at the crack of dawn, or slugging to the Hob with a dead squirrel and the arrow in its eye or yelling at a drunk Haymitch at around quarter to midnight or standing on the porch of her house in the black-dressing gown, eyes searching for things he'll never see. He hates Katniss a lot, now. The way she moves around the District so fluidly, the way she smiles at the boys in the Hob, winking at one of them playfully, the way she holds onto Haymitch's arm when she can't seem to find the way in the dark, the way she laughs when Sae's says something funny. There's something about her, the way she's pretending to be fine that gets to him and he wants nothing more than to grab her, shove her against a wall and fuck her till he's sore.

But Aloria satisfies.

He's kissing her furiously right now (because he saw the grey-eyed huntress coming from the forest with a grin on her face, a kill on her arm and a boy on the other.) and his hands are tangled in Aloria's light hair. Her body is petite and soft compared to him and he pushes his hips into her, relishing the faint gasp that parts her lips, allowing him entrance to her mouth. He hisses when she encloses him with her legs, pulling him ever closer to her center and obliging him with the heat of her wetness. His chest rumbles with the effort of his growl and she pulls away, dazed and delirious, smiling and panting all the while. He's looking back at her and trying to imagine that she has grey eyes, and dark hair that fall around her likes shadows and a pale complexion that screams Seam.

Doesn't work.

"Peeta..." he shuts her up with another searing kiss, fingers working at her belt, undoing the buckle and slipping her trousers away with forceful haste.

She returns swiftly with a groan of her own need and unbuttons his shirt quickly, hands slipping beneath to run across his scarred and broken skin with genteel. He doesn't feel something (something he later calls fire.) and ignores the tightness clogged in his chest. More than a month. More than a month and yet...he growls and yanks the underwear in the way and she pulls his trousers down, hand slipping into his boxers to find his engorged member. She strokes him harshly and he bites her tongue, another jolt of lust shooting through him. When her small fingers wrap around him, he chokes and pulls away for breath, so desperate as he swats her touch away with a light tap. She looks up into his dark eyes, takes in his messed-up hair and hopes for a moment.

He pushes into her without warning and her head falls back.

"Fuck," he mutters softly under his breath and her nails dig into his shoulders.

Doesn't take too long for them to move.

* * *

Katniss slips through the back door, wondering where Aloria is. The house seems unnaturally quiet and she recalls that Greasy Sae will be with some man from the District, discussing the building of a small playground for the children. She's cleaned herself up for the dinner tonight because he will be there and she wants to look...good, even if he doesn't think her to be beautiful or attractive. There's a nagging doubt in the back of her mind that something is amiss. She walks through the kitchen, noting all the prepared dishes and the neat utensils, urging away the clawing doubts in her mind. She's wearing the blue dress (the same one she wore at the Reaping...) and her hair are open (for the first time in her life.) and she walks with a purpose.

That's when she hears it.

A moan. Instantly, she knows that Aloria is in pain, or hurt or something and her feet carry her up, long strides bringing her close to her destination. She's panicking and a part of her mind tells her that she should just go home and sleep. Perhaps it'll be better then, but she doesn't listen or see the signs of betrayal along the way. Wounds as fresh as today's breath and raw as yesterday's soul press into her as she runs up the stairs and reaches the landing. She stops almost instantly, almost the moment her eyes land on her...friend.

Aloria's naked and so is he. They're both entangled and it isn't hard for Katniss to understand what is going on here. They're too lost in the haze to notice her harrowed face, or her burnt eyes or the sinking realization of doom. They're fucking each other and enjoying it. Their sounds are like curses, mocking curses to her ears as she stands there, shocked as they moved together with an animalistic pace.

She squeezes her eyes shut but they're there too, behind her eyes, impreganable and forever impending on her. She swallows bile, stumbles and somehow, makes it to the night, choking and wondering and weeping. The tears taste like hatred and the sobs become misery.

She falls onto her fours and the vomit comes out at a violent pace, hard and fast (just like them.) and she chokes on some of it.

She wants to laugh and cry and smacking herself for being so naive.

The vomit tastes like something familiar- something cold, forbidding and wholly punishable.

It tastes like _jealousy._

* * *

Katniss doesn't know why he follows her to her house or why he is nice to Haymitch at dinner but she dismisses it all with a cool indifference. How does it make a difference to her? How does it matter to her? Her steps are measured and careful in the dark and she looks back at the fading lights of Greasy Sae's house, a cold weight dropping to the pit of her stomach. _You lost him. You lost him. You lost him, Catnip. _He walks beside her, hands plunged into his pockets and eyes indecipherable. She doesn't pay attention to him- no, she looks up at the stars and asks the God (who never really esixted.) why he's chosen her to be the sufferer of all the sins of this world- be it rebellion, or skill, or love. She feels the ashen taste of hatred in her mouth and she refuses to give in to the urge of spitting it out, hitting Peeta until he's bleeding and walking away, knowing that she has destroyed him. She thinks back to when he came and his exact words echo in her head, chilling and heartless.

_What will happen when I fuck you against the wall tonight?_

She smooths away the hair from her face and purses her lips, digging her hands into the bag she's borrowed from on the District girls. Her key is cold against her palm and she pulls it out quietly, diligently ignoring his liquid gaze melting upon her skin, molding itself into a shadow over her, pressurizing her into things she doesn't want but she has control and she will win this game. He's got two points (two rounds, really) and she's got one. Greasy Sae's chicken tasted nice (not nearly as delicious as the lamb stew the Capitol sent her a few days ago.) and the bread smelt like Peeta- she knows for a fact that he has made it.

He's gone back to making bread and paintings (she's heard this from Haymitch, who also tells her that Peeta still has nightmares and he's been writing things down in a book. Reminds her of their idea of a record of this nightmare.) She puts the key in the keyhole, carefully calm and swings the door open. Her mentor lives the boy, raises geese and drinks away his days.

She steps into her 'home' and feels a sense of belonging. Perhaps the Victor's Village is the only place she can really belong. Perhaps President Snow was right in all that he decided to do- his vendetta against her because she had a power he would never get. It's strange, sometimes, when in the future moments, you think back to all the choices you made and you know that all of them were wrong. Perhaps she shouldn't have fought for the rebels, become the Mockingjay and abandoned the Boy with the Bread.

Perhaps she should have rescued him, stayed back in the Capitol and done what Finnick had suggested. That she could have anything- money, pleasure and secrets. But no, she took the wrong road and now here she is, with the boy she (loves?) wants, who only hates her. It's not right. She turns around, face carefully neutral and lips pursed tightly as she locks eyes with him. Why is he here? Will he break down with one of his episodes?

did tell her to take care and when he rang up a week ago, she'd told him that Peeta was avoiding her. Completely and truly avoiding her. The older man hadn't replied and she'd hung up after asking for some more pink pills because her head had been spinning and she'd been spinning. She'll take some more tonight and lie down naked in the silken sheets, thinking about all that she has lost and will never get again. She holds his gaze evenly and swallows the lump in her throat because she can see him (naked and perspiring) fucking the one girl she thought she could've trusted.

"What do you want, Mellark?" she asks monotonously, noticing the barest flicker of annoyance in his bottomless eyes as if he is pissed off at her (the irony?).

She leans against the blank wall and looks away to the other side with a faint hint of indifference as he glares at the side of her cheek with an agonizing heat.

Naked. _Fucking._ Aloria. Him and her, screaming and...No- it isn't worth thinking about.

"You won't invite me in, Katniss?" he asks her quietly, his voice devoid of mockery or smugness- so simple, so like the old boy who took her heart and once kept it safe from the destruction it was surrounded by.

"You and I both know that I won't, so please, stop wasting my time and tell me what you followed me home for..why you're here..right now," she replies in the same, low monotone as if she can't be bothered with him and his questions and those beautiful eyes.

He sucks in a breath and glances up at the starless sky with something indescribable in his eyes.

"Why did you save me in the Games?" the desperation in his voice catches her off guard and her bewildered gaze meets with his tortured one.

He isn't sure what's happened to him- the anger mixes with his frustration and merges into the shiny memories that he has, from the little he remembers and the more that he has seen in the Capitol at the request of President Snow. It's not fair. Why is she acting so indifferent and so cool...as if she doesn't care about him, or any of this. He doesn't like her closed face, or the cold eyes and she's put this mask on for only about three hours and it fits too well. He likes it when she flinches at his words (his power over her..), the way her eyes darken when they slip down to his hips (the lust he can bring.) and the way she looks so broken without him (she needs him.). But here she is, all closed up and cut off and he hates her.

Katniss is thrown off...completely. Then, with a deep breath (and a reminder to herself about him and Aloria and the pain..), she speaks up coolly, "I did it for the cameras and Haymitch, really. I had no choice and when Caeser announced the fact that we could win together, I thought that it would be my best shot at this all,"

The factual description of what never really happened that way hurts Peeta more than it should and he takes a threatening step towards her smaller form. She stands her ground.

"That's it?" he asks quietly, his voice devoid of any desperation though his eyes are bellying his indifference by being so pained and so grim that she feels a thudding ache in the space behind her ribcage.

"Yes, Peeta, that's it," she replies indifferently.

He squints and looks at her face with curiosity, noticing the faintest trace of tear-tracks. Realisation is slow to hit him but when it does, the air is knocked out of him and he feels more than he should (no love. no love. Hate her.).

"Are you jealous?" he asks in the dead voice (the one she's never heard before.) and her eyes snap away from his so quick that he's unsure if he ever saw anything on her face.

"How long have you been _fucking_ Aloria?" she returns in the same monotone, her hands resting lightly on her arms.

_She doesn't give a shit, _the voice mutters in his head, so cold and so right.

"Two years," he replies with a shrug and notices the faint tremor of her body.

So that's where her friend had been going the whole year- to the Capitol. Katniss feels another pang and the flash of them naked is there, so stark and cruel in her mind before she can stop it. Two years her friend had played along with the boy Katniss had cared for and she never once mentioned. Aloria must have been going there during the War. Katniss feels the pang of sickness again and bites it all back. She can't show she's affected.

"Well, I'm happy for you," the way she says it is like spitting out gravel, cold and emotionless makes him rethink the game. "It's nice to know that you've found someone worth the time...just treat her well...You deserve it,"

_I deserve you,_ the voice in his head shouts loudly.

The silence is thick and just when she's about to shut the door, he does the unthinkable. He barges in.

And things spiral out of control.

* * *

"What the fuck are you doing?" she snarls hatefully and he triumphs because she's finally being less dead and more alive.

He storms in (laughing at himself.) and finds his way to the kitchen as she follows him with short curses falling from her mouth. He looks around the small area, so clean and neat and yanks open the fridge with a grunt, eyes looking for something (anything.) to drink. At least she's angry at him. Victory tastes sweet as he pulls out a bottle of some alcohol (why does she have that here?) and turns around to face her fury with a smug smile. So she doesn't give a fuck about him anymore (he'll make her give a fuck.) and she doesn't want him here (he will make her want him.).

"What?" he asks her coolly and stretches up to retrieve glasses from the cabinet overhead.

Katniss feels it again. The need. When he reaches up for the glasses, his tee-shirt rides up and she notices the defined hip-bones plummeting into something far more sinful. Her stomach clenches and her throat dries suddenly, a throb in her nether regions. His muscles twist and golden skin looks so tempting in the faint light of her small kitchenette. He can't seem to find whatever he's looking for and he turns around, away from her and stretches her. Her heart is eating so hard and her fingers tingle and her head spins. She feels so hot, so closed and so needy. His golden muscles twist and she can imagine it as she's on top of him, fucking him, as his stomach clenches (just like it is now..) and twists, hips angling off the bed when she throws her head back an-

"You look flushed," his tone is snide and it's enough to make her realize how stupid she's being.

"What the fuck are you doing? I didn't invite you in and I don't want you here. So..." she curls her lip in fury and forgets all that she shouldn't (be calm, be cool and be indiffernet.) and continues his game, "...get the hell out..."

He grins manically at her before setting down the glass and the bottle, the skin disappearing under his tee-shirt. She feels her heartbeat accelerate and her stomach clenches again, her legs weakening at the intensity of his gaze. He stalks towards her quietly and she can't form any coherent speech with him looking at her just...just...He stops before her and leans down, inches away and yet so close.

"I like it..." he whispers huskily, his breath like a flame against her face, her neck. His head dips lower and she freezes instantly when his lips plant themselves on her neck. Everything bursts inside her... He trails kisses (hot and open-mouthed and so...so wet.) down the expanse of pale skin (finally, he says to himself.) before cotinuing, "...I like it...Katniss.." he sucks on the supple skin, teeth grazing it softly. "...when you talk dirty.." She arches into him without a thought and his body burns.

He pulls back abruptly, satisfied with her ragged breath, heaving chest and dark, molten eyes. It's more than he can have hoped for when she looks up, thick eyelashes flickering and ghosting over the skin he longs to touch. She's breathing harder (now that she sees the look in his eyes.) and steps back, dazed and uncontrolled.

"You...you like..?" she trails off and he knows what she's asking.

There's something like hope in her eyes, a flash (he wants to comply.) and he remembers the rules...

"I like the dirty words..but..." he pulls his lips into a heartless, broken smirk, running a hand through his hair, "..I never said I liked you..."

And then he's gone, stumbling through the front door with a pain in his chest and a hollow feeling in his head.

But the Game's never easy if it's played right.

* * *

"You fucking mutt! You mutt! You liar! You traitor!" his fingers are cold as they clasp around her throat.

She does try struggling but nothing works and her vocal chords seem dead. (A month ago, he kissed this very neck...now, he's strangling it.). She smells the beer on his breath and her mind collides with a million thoughts of whys and whats. Her body dangles above the ground, several inches away from the floor and she can't seem to open her eyes. Her body doesn't give up- her mind does. He's swearing at her, calling her filthy things, saying that she shouldn't be alive...shouldn't be here...and she's trying so hard to scream.

So hard.

He screams instead (different ideas, same concept.).

And throws her back into the wall.

Her head smacks against it with a loud, ricocheting din and she slithers down to the floor, lungs burning and eyes blank because she can't really make out anything but the tears that have seeped out from her eyes like rivers of pain. She gasps, the air so sweet and so cool as she inhales it, gulps it down greedily, fingers clawing at it for more. He's walking around and she thinks about nothing. Breathe. Breathe. She coughs some more and yanks at the top she's wearing (so constricted and so lost.). The collar pulls away to give the bruises some air and she coughs some more. The image of them fucking (this time, on the bed. She's walked in on them twice- last time being yesterday.) and suddenly she's coughing some more.

"SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" he shouts suddenly and her vision begins to clear.

She thinks about opening her eyes but the voice in her head tells her to be selfish and ignore the madness. Even if some sick, twisted part of her may enjoy it...she must ignore this. She rests her head against the wall, all blood and sadness, breathing hard.

At some point, she falls asleep.

Haymitch finds her like that, bleeding against the white walls, dreaming about the Meadow and flowers and Primrose. He panicks (the first in his existence.) and calls up . It's the only thing he can think of doing and he stays by her side, her small hand clamped down in his large paw, his worried eyes looking about for the sign he already knows inside his head. He knows the answer to his question is Peeta Mellark but he avoids the ideas that pop into his head and focuses on holding onto the girl who's become more than just a Tribute.

The Capitol attendants find the old mentor and his tribute asleep.

* * *

Peeta fucks Aloria hard that night and swallows her screams with his mouth. He pretends that her skin is lighter (like snow and paper and so many other things) and her eyes aren't so bright (they're dark, like the iron in the keys to his house). Her legs feel too constricted around him and he tries hard not to mutter anything stupid. She moves against him and he moves inside her, hard and fast until everything is starry and all he can see flames and a girl he can never understand (a girl he hates to love.)

Because people don't change- they get better at pretending.

When he comes, the name slips off his tongue before he can stop it but he's certain that it's a low curse and Aloria rides out the orgasm with one of her own. He deludes himself when he comes down from his high.

Because she's heard exactly what he's groaned against her neck- so wrong, so cruel.

_Katniss._

* * *

Her head doesn't hurt as she pulls back the bowstring and lets the arrow soar through the air, cutting through sunlight to find its target. The squirrel's eye twitches as the arrow plunges into it. Katniss smirks with something that can be called satisfaction (she's done it again.). She doesn't take long to collect her last kill for the day and walk through the overgrown mess towards the fence. The Peacekeepers are long gone with their white uniforms and guns and the fence is just a useless piece of metal, still standing (after the War and fighting.), still reminding her of the reasons that she fought off the Capitol and its despotic plans.

But what's worse are the dreams she's having. Ever since he crashed her head into a wall and forced Haymitch to move in with her, she's been dreaming about him and the way it could have been. She's seen him plenty of times with Aloria and Greasy Sae but she never approaches them. She's even stopped talking to Greasy Sae. She's sure she hates him and yet...the dreams. The dreams are a completely different story. A story of lust and heat and slipping hands over sinful skin. She always sees him storming towards her, the dangerous look in his indigo eyes before their lips collide. It's not soft, or beautiful or anything remotely gentle. It's rough and cold and so tempting. They get to the point where he sucks her until she's screaming and she strokes him until he's undone...and beyond that, she wakes.

Every time.

Haymitch complains about living with her and eating her badly cooked squirrel and when he says that they should just accept some of Aloria's cooking, she silences him with a look so scathing that he never repeats it again. He tells her small things about the Boy she has lost and despite herself, she finds herself listening. He talks about Peeta's nightmares (small shouts heard quiet clearly.), and the way he looks at his paintings in such a desperate manner as if recreating his old, shining memories is harder than trying to make his bed. How he eats Greasy Sae's chicken, how he always has some white liquor once a week, how he brushes his teeth before sleeping, how he takes his tea completely sugarless, how he watches the night sky, how he's made a painting of her.

Diabolical. Disgusting. And so sick.

She tells him to stop and go and sleep. He understands the look in her eyes and leaves before he starts shouting at her for leaving the boy in the Capitol (it's hard to believe that he, Haymitch Abernathy, has come to care so much...about so little.). Instead, he trudges away and falls asleep, drunk and hurt. She barely gets sleep- the moment she closes her eyes, she has dreams about Rue, Finnick, Prim and...nowadays, Peeta. Their routine is monotonous but comforting and they both live on in yesterday.

She slips through the fence and walks back to the Victor's Village with barely a glance towards her old home. The evening is young and her head feels light with the idea of eating something delicious.

Her house's door is open when she reaches it and immediately, suspicions grow across her body until she's ready to fall apart with all the monstrous ideas in her head. She's got her bow and arrow out because Haymitch won't be back until midnight (he's at the Hob.) and the Capitol had delivered the food in the morning. Her breath comes in short gasps and she creeps along the passageway until she's in the dining room (and kitchenette.) and she can see nothing. Her grey eyes scan the house furtively but to no avail. And there, she turns around and his blue eyes freeze her in place.

He's being treated again by Dr. Aurelius and she'll need her pills but what strikes her is how he looks so..smug.

"What are you doing here?" she doesn't even bother to hide the absolute fury at his presence.

"What?" he asks innocently and raises his brows, tall frame moving slowly towards her. "Going to shoot me with an arrow instead of welcoming me?" He asks her sarcastically, never stopping.

She's backing away, her stomach pooling with heat as the flashes of the dream drench her mind and her groin throbs. Her arms are shaking and she doesn't understand how he can have this effect on her. Nevertheless, she moves back until her back hits the marble column of the kitchenette and he's only a hair's breadth away. She's never felt this..this pulsating need and heat...and this fear of whatever can happen. The only thing between them is her trembling bow and arrow.

He'll win this. He knows it. She's never stood a chance. Not against him, anyway.

"What the fuck do you want?" she snaps, noticing his humored eyes and condescending smirk.

"Lower your bow,_ Katniss_," his voice is so silky, so rough and so liquefying as his tongue tastes her name like a poison. "You won't need that when I...take you against this column, right here..."

Her hands grow limp and the bow falls away and before she can open her mouth to say anything, he seals her words with his lips.

Everything falls apart.

* * *

They pull at each other's clothes desperately. He notices the fire is there (something non-existent with Aloria.) and he just pulls her hair by the hair. Her low plea for more never goes unnoticed as his other hand works away at the buttons of her loose shirt. Her scarred fingers run down his muscled torso and it's all he can do not to groan in agony because she's torturing him. Her lips are soft and nervous, like the taste of the summer rain, so cool and so significant and she tastes like sin. Her tongue is moist as it swirls around his and he has to stop thinking or he'll end up fucking her so hard...so hard that they'll be done at the end. Her hands slip lower and he can't fight it much longer. He pulls his mouth away and plants sloppy, hurried, wet kisses down her neck.

There's nothing...nothing romantic about this.

They're like animals, rabid and wild, unleashed upon each other with a fervor that none of them have ever felt before. He bites the sweet skin of her neck and she arches into her, hardened nipples grazing his burning torso. He squeezes his eyes shut and sucks in a shaky breath, sucking harder right there. She squirms against him and he wants to shout and tell her that no, she really shouldn't do that because it's going to end bad if she keeps rubbing herself against his erection. His cock feels so restricted, bound almost inside his trousers and he has to fight off the animalistic sounds that threaten to explode and fall into the open air.

She rolls her hips against him, her hands dipping into his trousers and he can't find the oxygen anymore. She pushes him away and for a moment and a moment only, he feels something like fear (that she'll stop him...stop this.) but she follows him down. He's on his back, on the ground and she's sitting by his side, breathing hard. Her hands are nervously working at his trousers and her dark, dark, forbidden eyes lock with his as she slips her hand into his underwear to find his throbbing member.

"Katniss," he breathes her name like a prayer, panting as his eyes twitch and his body arches up at its own accord.

Her lips are parted as she holds his gaze, never looking away, stroking him firmly. He can't think...can't understand...can't see why he hasn't done this before. She's perfect. She's incredible. And her hand...is painfully accurate, squeezing just hard enough and yet, gentle too. Her nails graze his cock and the rushing of blood deafens him as he feels his chest tighten and the familiar heat build up.

"Oh...God," he chokes out, his hips arching off the floor again because he's so close now...watching her lust for him, chest heaving and body trembling with the need. He isn't sure why he mutters that because he's never believed in a higher power but it seems like the best thing to say and he feels so...so tight...as if his muscles are stretching across to snap.

Her strokes grow faster and his cock twitches, pulsating and her eyes darken ever so much. Short gasps fall past her lips and he can't seem the right word to describe her...he's captivated...mesmerized... hypnotized or whatever. He can't look away and even as the dam breaks, his muscles unclench and he comes, he doesn't look away. His lips are parted in a large O as his hips buck and he comes with a strangled sound echoing in the room, the stars bursting across his eyes. She looks stricken.

Slowly, she lets go of his softened cock, still holding his dazed, broken eyes, she licks her fingers tantalizingly. He lets out a choked, broken sound at the act, hardening almost instantly at her actions.

And then he's frantically tearing off her clothes, not kindly, not gently but like some deranged madman who can't get enough. She's like a drug, so painfully addictive and yet so right. He pulls away her trousers, yanks away her top, discards the underwear somewhere in the shadows, so hard (despite his high...orgasm.) and then he's got her against the wall again. She's whimpering and without a warning, he plunges a finger into her slick folds, nose grazing her neck ever so softly, tongue following the lead, hot and wet. Her short gasps fall against his golden, sweating hair and everything's happening too fast.

She buckles and he adds another finger.

"Oh...Peeta...please..." she's begging him and he moves his fingers slower and her wide, dark eyes are asking him for so much more as her hot, perspiring body folds against his.

His fingers pick up their face almost instantly and he covers her mouth with his own as her legs tremble against his and her chest heaves, nipples rubbing his skin deliciously. It's not nice. It's not sweet. It's stupid and insane and he's moving his fingers faster than ever, kissing her at the same time, swallowing her heady moans and stimulating gasps. It's so quick. It's so fast and he isn't sure when he turns into such a monster but he pulls his fingers out just before he can find that spot. She pulls away from the kiss and rests her head against the column, breathing hard.

"No...no...Peeta..." she whimspers pathetically, hips arching towards his, looking for some kind of friction and her fingers slip down towards her own groin but he stops her instantly.

"No," he cuts off her pleas and spreads her legs and she seems to realize what is happening because she welcomes him with another rough kiss against his neck.

He holds her hips down with a firm hand and guides his member with the other towards her heated opening. It's like torture, being slow but he's got to be in control. She whines and he almost thrusts into then and there. She wants that high, too, he guesses and with a soft fuck, he slides into her wet heat with a strangled, guttural sound. His head falls into the crook of her neck, his member feeling the tightness around it. Her head falls back with a dull thud but they're too far gone to care. She's so...so tight. And the fire is there, always, burning against them both, hot and cold. Her nails dig into his shoulders and he holds her hips down because if she moves, he'll lost it.

With a feral sound, she pushes against his hold and suddenly, it becomes impossible not to move.

And just like the wild, sadistic, insane beasts that they've become, the Mockinjgjay finds herself a new song...with a completely different rhythm and the Boy with the Bread finds himself lost in the madness of it all.

* * *

He's gone by morning when she opens her eyes to look out at the sunlight and the world awakens. The ache between her legs and the smell of sex in the air reminds her of last night and she's awake.

"Fuck," she says loudly before she can stop it and slides her feet off the bed and onto the floor.

She remembers the way his hands stroked her soft skin, the way his eyes drank her in when she stroked him, the way his lips met hers wildly, the way his tongue wrote her name on her skin, over and over. And the way he seemed to fit so perfectly inside. Her throat constricts and she looks down at herself as if to see if anything has changed. She'll go hunting, she'll get him (the fucker...how could he?) out of her system..out of her mind...and she'll go to District Four like Haymitch had suggested a few days ago.

The week goes by with her hunting and eating and avoiding the town at all costs. She keeps her house locked and the key with her. She gives an extra to Haymitch because he is stupid and she feels some obligation towards him. The dreams get worse and she takes some more pink pills. She sees a lot of ghosts sometimes, in the shadows and then in the corners of the room. Sometimes it's Prim with her dead cat in her arms, or Finnick with his laughing, green eyes or even Rue, flowers in her hair but more often than not, it's him...Peeta Mellark...with the saddest smile on his face and the most heartbreaking look in his eyes. He says the words that break her completely.

_I don't love you. I...I don't think I can. _

* * *

They have an interview with Caeser Flickerman in the Capitol.

She shares a compartment with Effie Trinket (and the new red hair.) and Peeta stays by himself as the train carries them to the Capitol. They don't even look at each other during the whole journey and it's been almost six months since the time he came into her house and took her against the column. She smiles at her prep team when they come in and tells them to clean her up. They laugh at her thick brows and hairy legs but smile nonetheless and chatter about things she'll never come to understand. They wax her, tone her skin, fix up the scars (and bruises.) and she notices how Venia ignores the purple marks on the inside of her thighs. Flavius compliments her on the silkiness of her long hair and the braid she's managed to keep without her mother. Octavia paints fire on her nails and laughs at her confused face. A new stylist namely, Callix, with gold hair and brown eyes and such a look of happiness about him gives her a pale white dress that fits her perfectly. She passes him an upturned smile and he radiates it all back.

She wishes that she could just hate him for replacing Cinna.

But she can't.

When she pulls on the dress and Flavius makes the braid and Venia gives her a look (it's about the bruises.) and Octavia checks the nails, Callix tells her softly that she looks beautiful. The memory flashes before she can stop herself.

_'Having an eye for beauty isn't the same as weakness, except maybe when it comes to you.'_

She remembers how Peeta had said that to her, so soft and so sincere with those tender eyes glinting with emotions. He never meant it, not really, anyway. Now, he thinks she's ugly (he said so..didn't he?) and she pales in comparison to the Capitol women.

_I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster than I'm not. _

She remembers that too and laughs under her breath, standing backstage with people she doesn't know, waiting for him._ They changed you, though, didn't they? They turned you into exactly what you didn't want to...A monster. _The simplest words are sometimes the saddest, she thinks to herself. She thinks back to when he understood it all and she didn't. When he knew everything and she was lost in the glitter and the glitz. Now she sees whatever he saw then and understand that this game they've played is one of Capitol's. Only Peeta is some kind of instrument...some kind of part of it that uses her and plays the game and wins it. She swallows the lump in her throat, waves to an exuberant Effie and a drunk Haymitch before looking at **him. **He gives her his hand without a single glance and she feels lost for a moment.

She clasps his hand firmly without a word and looks to the front, pushing away all the sadness in her mind because tonight is a night of smiles and pretending to be OK. Caesar will help her, always has and always will but she knows that she has to pretend harder this time. So much more at stake. Peeta's hand is hot and comforting and launches electricity up her arm. She ignores it and is blinded by lights, her peripheral vision catching sight of his smile. She doesn't feel good. But pretending is all about that...anyway.

"How're you doing? How is the love?"

"Did you manage to adjust?"

"Do you live together?"

"Is it hard after all that you've been through?"

"What would you say to the lovers..young and lost like you?"

"Do you plan on a future...with children...as family?"

"How was the Capitol, Peeta?"

"Did Katniss take you back easily...or was she stubborn?"

"If you could change something..what would you change?"

Peeta stops at that question and she thinks for a moment that she has indeed deserved all of this and more. That perhaps he will tell the world the truth and they can live with it as best as they can. That perhaps the darkness in their twisted minds will come out and turn nasty. His eyes are lost somewhere far beyond and she wonders if he's looking Aloria (in the crowd..) or if he's thinking of something else. Her stomach knots (a stupid statement...because stomachs don't knot.) and she clutches his hand tighter.

He comes back, smiles briefly (her heart stops beating...no, it doesn't. Hearts don't stop beating. It just beats faster because he looks so beautiful.) and tells Caeser, "No...I would change nothing..."

And for a moment, Katniss allows herself to believe the lie.

* * *

When he comes to her compartment and tells her that Effie will not be coming back, she notes the look in his eye.

It's not a question.

And then they're onto each other, pulling away clothes and destroying facades to find the raw skin and old flesh beneath.

She finds herself hovering above him, his skin radiating with heat and his cock hard, stilted and his defiant eyes demanding her to do it. The moonlight shimmers through his gold hair like fairy dust and she feels her heart skip a beat again.

"Fuck me,_ now._.." he snarls nastily and pulls her towards him, his hot cock pushing into her slick opening.

And it's just like her dream.

She impales herself on him, throwing her head back and his nails dig into her hips, sure to leave marks on her supple skin. She gasps loudly and holds onto his arms for purchase, throbbing and aching for more. Her walls clamp down on him and he wants her to move so fucking badly. But she doesn't. No, she stays there, eyes trained on him and his hips jolt at their own accord, begging her to move. A strangled sound betrays her and then she moves. His chest ripples with the tension spreading across his muscles, tensing and clenching. His hip bones feel comforting against her thighs and his stomach twists, muscles unclenching as she moves.

She slides down him faster, his hands pulling her down and the heat builds up inside her as she notices how dark his eyes are (black like the darkness inside him.) and how his nails dig hard into her skin (like knives that he can throw so well at her heart.). It all becomes so fast. His hands slip and his lips part to echo her pleasure with a low, animalistic grunt. Her heart thunders and she wants to hold his hands or something but she doesn't. Only decides to move slower, rolling her hips and watching him hiss in pain.

"Fuck...fuck...so..." he trails off and arches up towards her when she moves a little faster. "...tight._..fucking..tigh_t,"

Maybe it's the way he shouts her name when he comes or the way his mouth looks when he says it that she's falling with him too, down and down into oblivion.

* * *

Everything becomes a haze from then on.

She goes to District Four. He goes with her. The nasty bruises on the inside of her thighs amplify and the half-moons on his shoulders bleed.

They fuck until their bodies are wrinkled with the water that they're in and they can see nothing but darkness.

* * *

He takes her against a wall at one of the parties that the Capitol hosts, hitching her dress around her hips and pulling his pants low enough so he can fuck her properly. He nips at her neck and she mewls and then he's inside, hard and ruthless.

His shirt's still on and her jasmine perfume poisons his head.

He pounds into her until she's screaming and flailing for relief. He comes undone a moment after him.

They get dressed quickly, just the moment a Capitol attendant comes to check on them.

They both smile and say it's all fine.

The attendant doesn't smile back.

* * *

"Don't fight...don't fight it..." he mutters huskily in her ear.

Grey eyes flicker shut as the high crashes over her, hips arching off the floor to meet the bliss.

He looks at her heartbroken eyes (she can't see him.) and watches her fall apart.

* * *

"It's warm...and it's wet...and it's so..." Peeta doesn't let her get any further.

He fucks her hard that night because she's been flirting with a lot of the young men at this party and it makes him so...so angry to see that they can make her smile and he can't.

She comes with a dark chuckle from his throat.

* * *

"I love you," she whispers when he's asleep.

He turns around, naked torso wet with sweat and eyes flickering, dreaming about mutts and bows. His arm lies limply over her chest. He'll be gone tomorrow morning- back to Aloria and his own hopes. There's another interview coming up. She repeats those words again.

He doesn't hear her.

* * *

The sky is a dark indigo and the squirrel in her plate tastes like shit when the letter pops through the House. She wonders what it could be and an askant look from Haymitch confirms her suspicions. Who could possibly be sending letters in District Twelve? She gets up, glances at a painting on her wall (Haymitch tells her that Peeta doesn't want her to have it..but since Haymitch is here...she can keep it.) and then walks to the door. She picks up the white envelope with golden (printed) handwriting and feels a rough sort of pain in her stomach. She walks back silently and doesn't open the envelope. She tells her mentor that the geese are dying and that they must finish dinner before she can read whatever is in there.

They eat in silence.

Companiable silence.

A year has passed since he has come back...the Boy with the Bread, that is.

She washes the dishes and towels them, ignoring the nervous flutter in her chest and the thundering heart beat of her most important organ. She'll be meeting her mother next year and Gale, too, with his wife. She lets herself smile for a moment. Then, dries more dishes and looks at the envelope with the gold lettering. (It says,_ For You._) She dries her hands next, noticing her waterlogged fingers (and thinking about their fuck in the water.) and sucks in a deep breath. The evening grows cool outside and she hears Haymitch scolding his geese.

She opens the envelope with trembling fingers and pulls out the card. Her grey, grey eyes look over the words.

_You are cordially invited to the wedding reception of Peeta Mellark and Aloria G..._

She stops reading there, or maybe she does read ahead and she doesn't remember anything. Her eyes blue involuntarily and the card falls from her fingers like sand through air and she can't breathe. She sits on her chair, shocked and terrified, slow tears running down her cheeks and wonders if she ever deserved anything at all. The world seems to spin and the vomit is also involuntary but it comes out anyway. She retches her dinner onto the floor and the card. The numbness spreads like a wildfire. She rocks back and forth and her voice shifts into itself. It had begun like an itch, a simple game that turned into something she could never have won.

She cries until Haymitch comes back in and looks at her in alarm. It all stops then. The numbness crunches itself around her heart and she feels a familiar (so nice..so deserving.) ache in her chest as the darkness spreads across her skin and finds its way to her bones. She gives him a smile (pretense.) and tells him that Peeta is getting married. He asks her why she's crying and she tells him she's the look in his old-wise, drunk eyes, they both know she's lying but he goes along with it.

They go to the Wedding and it's in the Capitol (the place where Peeta confessed his love for Katniss...once and the place where he found himself a replacement.) and the cameras watch it all with bewilderment and yet some sick kind of satisfaction. The sky, she notices, is red, when the couple kisses and her heart seems to fall out of her chest and crawl away. She doesn't wave it goodbye. Effie Trinket laughs and tells the reporters about Peeta Mellark's new love story and Katniss fades into the grey facade. The couple look happy, smiling at each other (he smiles at her..once.) and she thinks about her foolishness. She should've guessed something was up when he didn't come to her for over a month...but her love clouded her mind. She only feels so numb now. Aloria comes towards her, Peeta on her arm and Katniss braces herself. She doesn't have to. She's got nothing to lose.

Berries were the only solution to this game anyway.

She smiles at her friend and the boy she loves (still.) and tells them, "You're perfect together,"

Aloria gushes on about her wedding and the dress and the food and Peeta but the huntresses' eyes are trained on blue ones, asking things her mouth never will and willing him to make her understand what he feels. He looks asif he'll start crying or something and she wonders what really is going on. Then, Aloria smiles at her husband and he smiles back and Katniss excuses herself to go and vomit in the toilet not far away. Effie tells her she's happy and Katniss nods, noticing Venia's broken gaze on her. The prep team member smiles at her.

Katniss can't even smile back.

When she hears about their baby, she cries herself to sleep. It doesn't matter anymore. She doesn't matter anymore. The hollow chasm in her being is comforting and the pink pills even better (they help her sleep and help her numb the pain.). She visits them with baby clothes and smiles a smile so big that Greasy Sae expects it to fall off. Haymitch refuses to meet the boy and Katniss knows this is because of her but she doesn't argue. It's what Haymitch does. Protects her and keeps her alive. She looks at the baby and wonders if she could ever have had that in her life. Peeta catches her gaze and for a moment, she lets herself believe that their is hurt in his eyes...that her numb happiness hurts him just as much as it hurts her...but the moment is gone and his cool smirk kills whatever hope there is. She doesn't find her voice again.

When they celebrate their anniversary (fifteenth or something), she knows that he's always promised her lies and held her in an embrace of nothingness. She takes her pills, hunts the squirrels and eats with Haymitch. Gale comes to visit her but she's too far gone to come back now and he merely looks at her gaunt face, screams obscenities about the boy and leaves. Her mother comes back to her but these are wounds that even, she, cannot heal and so she watches her only daughter fade into herself. The primroses grow gold and violet in the Meadow and the days are long like beautiful summers. The Capitol has a new obsession. They don't worry Katniss Everdeen again. She watches herself grow old, wishing for things she could never have had. Haymitch's geese die. Her mother leaves and goes to District Eleven.

The sky is blue (the colour of his eyes) and the day is young when she hears that Peeta Mellark never really loved her (he sends her a long letter.) and that it was only a game. Always was, always has and always will be. So she wanders through grass and old muses with dead tears in her eyes and his voice in her heart, echoing and reminding and painfully possessing her as the darkness swims along.

_Let me go!" she snarls at him, trying to wrestle her arm from his grasp._

_"I can't," he says._

__But he's let her go anyway, hasn't he? She laughs herself to sleep, bitter tears seeping from the corner of her eyes.

The Mockingjay doesn't speak again.

* * *

_**AUTHOR NOTE:**_

**OUCH. Plot bunny was itching to come out. No, actually, it was yelling. Screaming. Clawing away. **

**I know that Peeta and Katniss are a little OOC but that's because of what they've been through and the fact that they never saw each other after the Quell. I realize that some of you may not like my potrayal of them both but I cannot help it because it's completely essential to the story and I cannot help it.**

**It's been really hard to write this because I love them both so much and they should ALWAYS be together. I suppose it's mean of me to kill their relationship but the game is a game and Peeta wins it with all his lies and charades and pretenses. Katniss loves him...a lot but he's...just...Well, who knows? I mean, she does mention that there are times when the look in his eye bellies his indifference and blah..blah. **

**I'VE TAKEN EXTRACTS FROM THE BOOK (NO CREDIT FOR ME.) AND THEY'VE BEEN EDITED FROM 'I' TO 'SHE' FOR THE PURPOSE OF THIS STORY AND THEY'RE IN ITALICS. I DO NOT WANT TO PLAGIARIZE...JUST WANTED TO MAKE IT MORE REAL. **

**I've dedicated this to one of my favourite Everlark writers and I hope she likes it. ****I gave you lemon action, duly let you know that I am a review whore. So, PLEASE leave even just a good and I'll get on with it. If there are any errors, PM me or leave a review! Thank you so much for reading and if you're a silent reader, please review. :-) I hope it's good enough. Please leave reviews! I decided to make this a one-shot instead of a two-shot, so here it is. PLEASE REVIEW and favourite :-)**

**THANK YOU SO MUCH! And please review! :-)**

**...**

**PLEASE REVIEW! :-)**

_Thank you for reading..._

...

_**WhereBrokenHeartsLie**_

**16th September 2012**


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